


Your Hand on my Heart

by crystallized_rain



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Stupid Fairytales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystallized_rain/pseuds/crystallized_rain
Summary: “I rather liked snow when I was little,” Roy admitted, his eyes on the road but watching the younger boy out of the corner of his eye, “since I lived in the east as well, I know the winter there is quite mild in contrary to Central.”
  The boy beside him had a small smile on his face. “Snow is still beautiful, when it comes slowly and spirals down the sky like it should do in these cliché love story bullshit movies they make, not dropping in clumps packed with ice and crashing to the ground."
  Roy chuckled, earning himself a glare from the blond. “What? It's true!”
  “I'll admit the love story part should be quite fancied.” He said at last, his eyes never leaving the road as they swerved onto the Main Street.





	

_The ones with cold hands were angels with wings broken._

_They are restricted from normality, tormented for their difference._

_Unlike the other angels, they cannot reach high._

_For that reason, they often like to act tough, pretending that everything is alright._

_They forbid themselves to cry, to seek aid, to give up._

_Too scared to let the others know, others who can lend a hand, just as they can laugh at them._

_Clouded in darkness and grief, they still masquerade with the keenest of smiles._

_Because God have abandoned them, their prayers are unheard._

_So if someone like that exists, someone whose hands are surreally gelid;_

_Cherish them, assist them, guide them towards the sky._

_As they themselves are forbidden from the act._

_Love them, and warm their grasps with your own._

_Because ones with cold hands were angels with wings broken._

  Roy shut the clearly fictional volume with a snap of papers colliding. Picking himself up from the couch, he traipsed back towards the shelf, skimming the columns with a sharp gaze and resting his focus on a slim gap between two children's novels. He slid the thin story book back into place where it felt more at peace than when it rested in the hands of a scientifically motivated man. 

 

  No, he wasn't bored to the point of sinking down and indulging in fairy tales. He was merely passing through the children's fiction sector to get to the chemistry non-fiction shelves that poised themselves directly across from the fairy tales. He was only taking a short cut like he always did instead of wounding around a wall and striding several distances. Plus, he could sneak up on Fullmetal this way and surprise him with a caustic remark or two. He wasn't sure why he picked up the fictional volume. Maybe it was the oddly ancient twine that bound together aged leather and yellowed pages that attracted his attention, since the book was distinctly out of place and archaic in a small children's reading section like this.

 

  He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts that meandered about. He wasn't supposed to be making opinions on a made-up story like this, much less suddenly thinking if the Fullmetal Alchemist himself had cold hands. It was evident that _one_  of his hands were cold, since automail was rarely anything but. Once again silently cursing himself for thinking too much, Roy made his way through between two shelves that stood with a leisure gap from each other, feeling his footsteps soften abruptly upon hitting thick carpet that marked a frontier for the difference between fiction and fact.

 

  The older man stepped through with an unaccounted for quietness from the muffling fabric that smoothed out the usual taps his military boots gave off unceremoniously. He sauntered out, following the line of the shelves and letting gloved fingers run along the spines of dissonant books while his line of sight approached with a wary conscience the young man that was sprawled on his stomach with knees quirked up, feet kicking softly on a wooden shelf and elbows planted on the carpeted floor while gazing with absolute fixation on a tome splayed out beneath him. It was near impossible to see the sixteen year old with such a calm and concentrated face on, giving off the impression that he was neutral to everything except the subject of focus. The world could end and he would be reading just as intently.

 

  Roy coughed, clearing his throat much too loudly than he should, a visible attempt to gather attention. He watched as his actions went unnoticed, and he sighed, folding up his arms as the boy flipped a page, oblivious and uncaring. He thought about simply snatching the book out from the reader's view, but dismissed the idea as soon as it came up; he would no doubt be horribly insulted and jabbed at for hours if he did that. He coughed again, this time a little louder, hoping he could gain at best the least of movements. Shaking the blond from his trance was out of question, for the fast reflexes that went with animal instinct took on its purpose once when Havoc had unknowingly committed the action, and Roy was by far a better long distance fighter—unlike Edward. 

 

  It was the third time that he coughed a twitch came from the boy, followed by a sharp golden gaze averted quickly from his book. Roy inwardly cheered as the boy closed the tome around his index finger as a substitute for a bookmark, and slowly changed to a crouching position. He got on his feet, rubbing his bent knees and wincing as it gave off a small crack. 

 

  “Well?” Blond eyebrows rose. “What the fuck did you come here for?” He asked with an unusually quiet tone, reminding Roy that this was still the heavenly library Ed respected so much.

 

  He let an amused smirk display on his face, soft, silent and fully acknowledging the holy grounds in introspection; accrediting his facial expression to speak volumes. It certainly pleased him when a profound scowl scrawled itself over the younger man's face. Roy let one gloved hand reach up and drag itself through his messed up ink black hair, surfacing a teasing tilt of lips which triggered a low growl that rumbled deep in Edward's throat.

 

  “Fullmetal, you know very well why I came here.” He said, with a hint of sarcasm, “About that report you were supposed to drop in _three_  days ago...”

 

  “...I know, I know! That's why I'm here! Researching for the damned chemistry components that caused the alchemical backfire you talked about the other day!” 

 

  Roy watched as Ed put his hands up in exasperation. His voice was just a tint louder than the hushed tone he normally used in libraries. The boy had noticeable bags under his eyes—very much due to the lack of rest in between missions that Roy had sent him on. But he couldn't blame _Roy_ , since the man wasn't the one who distributed them and had no control over the amount of problems happening. Most of them were just due to the winter effects on train accidents, snow build-up, mountain rock slides and traffic accidents caused by the weather and frozen water. 

 

  He stifled a sigh of annoyance, “And when do you think you'll finish?” 

 

  That earned him a glare as the blond reopened the book he was holding and flipped it up so Roy could see the cover; _History of Chemical-Alchemy Reactions_. It was unsurprisingly old, with a wooden cover and a worn leather clasp that was designed to keep the book closed. Ed shoved it in his face, just a centimetre from his nose. “When I get this damned book read and notes taken care of, you do the math.”

 

  The older man rubbed his temples. With Ed's concentration and reading speed, it should take about four hours to get the entire thing done. Notes would usually take him half the time, considering he only checked in with the important parts. He was also a fast writer, so he should be able to summarize the facts he found pretty quick.

 

  “I'll give you half a day. Check in with me before eight at night, or I'll personally send Armstrong after you.” Roy warned, receiving a cleave of brows with a hesitant nod.

 

  “That's fine, I can probably get it done by then.” Ed said thoughtfully, before realizing who he was talking to, and gave a glare at the older man standing before him. “Now, get the fuck out! I can't concentrate with a fucker like you dancing about.”

 

  “I don't dance about, Fullmetal.”

 

  The shorter man was completely unamused, his eyes narrowed and lips canted upwards in a wry smile. “Mind I remind you about the time you paraded around the office for hours just because you got that Tracy playing-hard-to-get-girl in bed? You were swooning and humming...”

 

  “...I was not!” Roy interjected, spluttering with but a little tinge of pink clouding his cheeks; somehow he still managed to keep his levelled superior officer mask in place. “You always exaggerate the facts, and this is completely irrelevant.”

 

  “A futile parry, Colonel. That's just sad.” Edward commented dryly. “But please remember that you didn't come here to hold a memorial for your dead love life—I, for example, still have to honour my job.”

 

  The taller man held back a growl of irritation, his solemn mask struggled to stay in place. “Save the sarcasm for when you report in, Fullmetal.” He wasn't running away, no. He was simply ending a conversation that should have ended a long time ago. “I'll leave you to your work, and I expect that report to be done and turned in this evening.”

~

  “Roy, I have an urgent business to discuss with you, this is serious: Elicia wrote a cute little poem about her papa today in preschool! It's so sweet even though it's only a few words she just learned! Ahem, it goes something like this...”

 

  “...I'm very sorry, Hughes, but apparently I'm reckoning a visit just about now so it would be kind of you to give me some alone time to finish my work before the lights are out.” Roy interrupted, his pen bleeding dark ink onto a stack of mission reports waiting to be signed. Life can be so cruel at times. Why now—of all occasions, when he actually _wanted_  to get some work done before Hawkeye cocks her pistol at him—that this damned obsessed father had to burst his little concentration bubble. “ _This_ time I'm not lying; I am assuming Edward's presence some time between now, so I'm afraid I won't be able to hear your daughters presumed lovely poem. Also, getting my work done is a plus, since Leutenant Hawkeye won't be able to hold anything against me.” When they were on the phone, he could hang up anytime he wanted; he had a choice. But now, it appears the contrary. As much as he believed in his superpowers of overturning any situation with wordplay and witty bullshit repartees, he had not a hand in this.

 

  Hughes had pulled a chair from the outer office, sat it directly across from the desperate working man, and had been reclined in it for hours now that Roy was starting to worry if the daughter-obsessed man had any so-called feelings of soreness at all; Roy, for one, couldn't even feel his bottom anymore. It was just the usual, chats about his daughter, about his wife, encouraging and pestering Roy to get a wife, and all else work trivial.

 

  “Hey, I've an idea!” Ah, _and_  stupid mentally ill ideas that the married man came up with. “Do you think _Ed_ would work well?”

 

  A raised eyebrow, “What the hell are you on about?”

 

  “Just an idea, but...” Hughes paused, trailing off a little, “I think Ed would make a great lover.” He scratched his head, a little unsure, before raising his view to meet Roy's eyes with a horrible gleam. “Don't you think so?”

 

  “Hell, no!” Roy burst from his seated position, jumping to his feet frantically like he just discovered a huge scorpion that had unknowingly been on his armchair the entire time. He met the all-too-wise look of the man across from him who was currently wearing the inherent keen-father face, and he knew the battle was lost. Though that didn't keep him from making a riposte, “Edward is, and will continue to be a _boy_  a decade and half my junior who will forever remain stubborn and repulsive.”

 

  “As trite as it sounds, age is only a number, gender is just a performance, and personality can _always_  be altered in the sake of _love_.”

 

  Roy chuckled, “You throw that word around a lot, and you don't even know if I actually like Edward.”

 

  He earned that brusque look of annoyance that was shot his way.

 

  “Please, Roy. I have eyes too, you know. It's difficult not to notice the longing looks and tenseness you project every time we even as so much do something that relates itself to Ed—an example would be reading. We have to be blind _and_ deaf to not notice the choked puppy noises and scowls that you make after Ed leaves for another mission.”

 

  “I do _not_  make choked puppy noises.” Roy argued, voice way louder than he should be. He almost forgot where he was, and was about to break out a heated argument with his best friend until a rather loud cough came from outside—an irritated reminder for him to control the volume.

 

  His only response was a knowing smirk, and he simply wanted to bury his face in his hands and message his temples for the rest of the night.

 

  “Sit down, Roy. You're still standing, and it's awkward to try to talk to someone as nervous and adrenaline-kicked as you.”

 

  Realizing the fact, Roy gave a huff of breath, promptly retreating back onto the leather armchair. It was true that maybe his feelings for the boy were more than platonic, but what could he do about that? You couldn't exactly—let's say, _persuade_  someone to love you back.

 

  “Hughes, you do know that even if I were to yield a feeling of love towards the boy, it may not necessarily be mutual.” He pointed out, and felt more stupid than ever when the man across simply rolled his eyes.

 

  “There's a fact, but you won't know till you try, and not every love starts mutual and requited.”

 

  The knock at the door successfully saved Roy from getting backed into a corner. He tore his focus from the disturbing subject that lingered in the air and regarded the door stoically, already acknowledged of who was on the other side. The knock should've been a kick and several curses and more kicks until the defenceless piece of wood broke down, but maybe Ed had respected the quietness of late evening more than he thought.

 

  “Come in.”

 

  The handle twisted, and the click and snap of tumblers grinding sounded. Hughes turned around to look expectantly with a cheerful smile as the door opened, revealing a very ticked-off blond boy. His signature crimson cloak was still wrapped around him, shifting in a volatile manner with every movement taken. The black leather jeans he wore all times was tight and wanton, making Roy's mouth water as he skimmed his view up the boy's thighs. _Thighs_! Oh how he loved thighs. Forcing himself to focus elsewhere before things went horribly wrong and before Edward realize the lustful glances he was stealing and accuse him of attempting molestation, Roy let his sight raise to the boy's customary black shirt and the mellow skin covering the sharpness of prominent collar bones. He continued to let his eyes trail up, to the sharp jaw, pointed chin, high cheek bones, straight and delicate nose, all the way up until he was staring into the liquid-gold of his eyes.

 

  “What are you inspecting me for, bastard? Scared I'm a homicidal maniac that's about to eat you?”

 

  Roy swallowed, better answer it before things get out of hand. “Maybe you are the type, considering your _shortness_ of temper.” He said, though hastily with quick wits assembling words together and tossing them out self-consciously on autopilot while his mind focused elsewhere.

 

  No, he wasn't going to look at the silky blond locks that were always braided and smooth but for the antenna that stuck up annoyingly. He just can't bring himself to stare at the long hair that always held him captivated and...turned him on. Roy remembered the last time he saw the boy, and the golden silk had been a little messed up with the elastic that held the braid in place running loose; he had wanted to run his fingers through the sea of different yellows blended together, he had wanted to tuck away a cowlick that stuck out and cup the boy's face in his hand, he had wanted to pull on that subtle looking hair that aroused him while pressing fervent kisses over the boy's body, running his tongue over all the sensitive spots and listening to Edward's moans when he...okay let's not go into graphic.

 

  The point is—the hair meant trouble, and as much as he didn't really hate this type of trouble, it was still embarrassing.

 

  “Bastard? You in there?”

 

  Roy snapped out of his dire, lewd thoughts that raged war with logic. He brought himself to look in Edward's eyes and hoped that his gaze was none too lustful and wanting, and struggled to stay composed, planted his feet on the floor. The coal-black of his eyes met irritated canary yellow ones, reminding him of the bird.

 

  “Yes?” He replied, shifting his eyesight so he wouldn't have to face the piercing glare.

 

  “Did you not hear me or something? 'Cause I remember asking you a question.” The blond folded his arms in ire, causing Roy to raise an eyebrow.

 

  “What did you say?” He asked, trying his best to maintain the monotonous superior tone that most officers used. He looked around in the corners of his eyes, realizing an absence of one particularly obnoxious married parent. “And where did Hughes go?”

 

  At the question, Edward let out a snort, “He left already, says he had to get home before nine or Mrs Hughes will get worried.” He paused, and narrowed his eyes, “Which is what I'm on to about: why was Hughes here this late? I recall his policy being—and here I quote: to always get home before six o'clock. This is way past six.”

 

  Speaking of, Roy felt as the flash of the conversation with Hughes replayed itself in his mind, threatening to break his charade of playing the cold commanding officer. “You do not need to know, Fullmetal. I simply want the report, did you finish it?”

 

  A file document was tossed onto his desk that was already brimming with unsigned files. Roy opened the folder, and flipped over the messily written document. Ed might be a fast writer, but he was an awful one. Roy would have to spend days trying to figure out what each scribble stood for. Nevertheless, the report was ten pages long, full with sketched diagrams and arrays that were particularly intriguing.

 

  “I don't even see the fucking reason why you want this done so early. You still have an indefinite amount of shitload to get through before you actually get to mine, and that won't be any time soon since lights should be out in a few hours.” Ed complained, voice full with irritation, mock hurt, and something else that might be a blend of the two. “So what were you talking about? It seemed quite interesting when the fucking invincible Hawkeye warned me and was rubbing her temples like hell. I'm not usually fond of old men bullshit, but if it's something I shouldn't know, then instinct tells me that it involves me.”

 

  Clever, perceptive, witty, dangerously intelligent, knowing—and whatever good words you use to describe horrible genius prodigies, Ed was fit for all. Roy averted his gaze, somehow accidentally landing on Ed's gloved hand. _Cold hands_. The story struck him again, and a sudden urge to feel the one human hand of the boy washed over him. He shook him self out of his scattered thoughts, instead turning to face the glare head on.

 

  “You know, when people say you don't need to know, it means that you don't need to know. So instead of digging where you shouldn't be, why don't you try elsewhere?” Roy reprimanded, however wryly with a caustic smirk. The boy was definitely going to take offence on this.

 

  Sure enough, the glare that was coated once with curiosity was flipped into one seething and menacing. 

 

  “Why you! I just wanted to fucking know something and this is what you give me as a damned shitty answer and ‘oh, why don't you go crap elsewhere’! What the hell, you bastard!” Edward exploded, face red with anger, voice mocking and burlesqued when he quoted Roy.

 

  A smirk found its way up Roy's face, though dimmed just a little by a frown at how he was ruthlessly quoted. “Fullmetal, I think you paraphrased that a little too much.” He waited a few seconds for the mercurial brat in front of him to calm down. It always took less than a minute for the blond's temper to take a 180 degree turn, and sure enough, this time was no exception.

 

  Ed gave a small laugh, then cleaved his brows at the report that still sat nonchalantly on Roy's desk, completely untouched. “Aren't you gonna fucking read that?”

 

  “Reading your masterpieces always gives me a headache, since it requires time and patience—both of which I don't have since I want to sleep and rest for now.”

 

  The blond rolled his eyes, muttering about lazy old men before stuffing his hands in his pockets. He tilted his head and glanced at the clock that hung on one side of the plain white walls casually, though Roy took note of how tense his shoulders were. The clock read a little past eight-thirty, which wasn't late—if it were in summer. Right now, in late December when day was only a few hours worth of time and night stretched painfully long, eight-thirty was already dark with gloom and frost, comparable to midnight.

 

  Edward took a shaky breath, which was bizarre on _Ed,_ “I-I'd better go, Al's waiting at our hotel and...”

 

  “...I'll accompany you?” Roy stated, though it came out more like a question than what he was determined to do. It was pathetic for him—the ultimate fearless player who strikes home run every time he feels like it—to be hesitant and doubtful of the response a snobby and arrogant brat.

 

  Said snobby and arrogant brat regarded him carefully, like he suspected that Roy had something else in mind and was just using him. The natural answer and act for him, since manipulation was anything but new to the boy, and even less surprising if it came from his commanding officer.

 

  “I'm not a fucking woman, I don't need an escort.” Ed retorted, but the reluctance and doubt still lingered in his voice.

 

  Roy sighed inwardly, why had he even asked it, it wasn't like a single trip from military quarters to a hotel could let him take the blond and claim him—besides, the chances of his consent and alacrity was sadly low. But he had to reason himself out first and bet on the chances, no?

 

  “There is a snowstorm outside, I have a car, can drive, and need to get back too. I can take you along since your hotel is the same direction, so you wouldn't have to suffer in the freezing cold only to get hypothermia due to two metal limbs. Is it _that_  hard to believe that my intentions are pure and not manipulative for once?” Roy reasoned, getting tugged along as he sorted out why and explained himself. 

 

  “Yes.” The irritated, untrusting voice of the blond pulled him back into reality. He looked into the annoyed yellow eyes of the shorter man, finding nothing but doubt.

 

  “Look, I'll promise that I won't take you anywhere weird.” Roy shut his eyes, letting out a long breath before reopening them. Yup, sure enough, the distrust was still there. No, it wasn't his eyes hallucinating no matter how you look at it.

 

  He thought he would get a reprimand thrown in his face and a rejection to his offer, happily, he was wrong. The flickers of doubt that still dwelled in the molten-gold didn't evaporate, but it diminished along with the tautness of shoulders. Ed ran a hand through his hair, once again causing Roy to swallow and look away as he tried to order out the erotic and impure thoughts he was having. Stay calm, Roy. Stay calm. That was just hair, nothing else but hair. Your thoughts were nothing unusual, all old men were like this. Think thighs, _thighs_.

 

  “You're tuning me out again, bastard.”

 

  The slightly peeved voice dragged Roy out of his wanton imagination of all things inappropriate. He looked to the blond who had already approached the door, and made a move to stand up. Ed canted his head, a look of something other than the usual agitation pierced the older man's mind.

 

  “What were you saying?” Roy didn't bother shrugging his coat on, simply tossing it over an arm while the other gathered up papers into clean stacks and picked up pens and ink jars to throw them carelessly into a supply drawer.

 

  The boy wrenched opened the door with a loud creak, tapping his clearly metal foot against the floor impatiently as he waited for Roy to finish up. “I said that I might as well steal a ride since you were being all _sincere_  and mushy. It would be a lot better if you learn to multifunction  and think and listen at the same time so I won't have to repeat things again and again.” He replied, stepping into the outer office with a mild noise of footsteps and writing utensils clicking as he checked with every work desk.

 

  Sliding books back into the shelves that were nailed to the wall on the left, Roy thought yet again about the fairy tale he read that morning. No good, now every time he saw a book, the pathetic story of angels and shit swept in like a breeze. The poem was printed to his mind, and somehow he just couldn't forget it. 

 

  Stepping out of the inner office, he flicked off the lights. Roy watched as Ed emptied out the full ash tray that sat boldly in the middle of Havoc's desk, as if the man had predicted that by doing so, Roy would have no choice but clean it out for him due to his orderliness. The boy stepped back, slipping the tray back onto the desk, and headed for the main entrance where Roy was poised.

 

  “Shut the lights, and we're gonna go from the east exit—it's closer.” 

 

  The older man gave a sigh as he reached over and flicked off the switches as winced a little as the room coated itself in complete darkness. Beside him, Edward strolled out into the silent hallways. The working officers at this time was rare and mostly cocooned in their own shells of warmth and light than out in the cold, unheated corridors. Their footsteps echoed down the empty halls, it was evident that winter had struck hell on everyone. Most of the office doors that were usually kept open were firmly shut to preserve what little heat this place offered, the soldiers were allowed to be dismissed early from their usual drills that always halt themselves a little during this time of year. The only training still open and advancing were the artillery practices held interior, and even that was diminished by a good half due to lack of heat.

 

  They patrolled around the locked and deserted cafeteria, crossing an intersection before reaching the wooden doors that rattled uncompromisingly against the gelid wind. Edward pursed his lips, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that he would have to suffer in the cold, before pressing his automail hand down on the metal handle and twisted. The wood gave a jerk from the wailing wind before it pushed the doors open and let in a frosty bite of cold air.

 

  Roy followed the shorter man out as another blast hit, and quickly closed the doors behind him to prevent any more heat loss to the building. The warmth in his clothes escaped like quicksilver, and he clumsily shook out his coat to shrug it on and button it half way while scurrying after Edward, who was already making fast paces towards his parked car that was shielded from the northern wind by a wall that secured the border of military headquarters.

 

  “Come on, open the damn thing! I'm freezing cold already!” Ed demanded, kicking softly at the tire of the car. His cloak was wrapped tight around him, his hoodie covering most of his head while he buried his hands in the pockets. Roy had to remind himself that the boy was worse off than him due to two metal limbs that made the blond's body temperature as volatile as his mood.

 

  Dipping a hand into his trouser pockets and blindly grasping around, Roy closed his fingers around a metal clump that rested at the bottom along with a few pieces of folded paper and some loose coins. He hooked his pinkie around a small metal circlet and pulled out the keys, quickly separating car keys from all else. After fumbling with it for a moment, the key finally slipped in. He twisted, successfully opening the doors on Edward's side.

 

  The small blond lunged inside like his life depended on it, hooking up his legs and clasping his arms around them in a desperate attempt for warmth. Roy shut the door promptly, and circled around the car to get to the driver's side. His fingers were already numb and on the verge of falling off, but he ignored it as he repeated the process to get the car unlocked.

 

  “This is some bullshit season.”

 

  He heard as soon as he slipped in gracelessly, collapsing in the seat like a tired dog, but this time due to coldness instead. Without a word, Roy started the engine, feeling the car hum as he grasped the steering wheel and pulled up the safety. 

 

  “Isn't that true.” He mused, trying to focus on driving in the snow and ignoring the silvery tint that Edward's blond locks gave off as the remaining flakes of snow displayed, some melting and dripping down the path of his hairline while others lingered. 

 

  The warmth started to return to him, and even if the car wasn't much warmer, Roy could feel the tinge of the blood circulating and the numbness of fingers slowly creeping away. That reminded him again of the stupid story book he read while in the library. The man ignored it, he was an atheist, he—just like Edward and most of the other scientists—did not believe in god, angels, supernatural creatures or anything that might relate to them.

 

  The car turned a corner, and advanced down a quiet, narrow street. Snow hit the windshield harshly, beating the glass and blocking the view. Twice, Roy had to slow down due to the smudge that the snow unforgivingly caused by crashing head on. 

 

  “This is why I hate winter.” He could hear Edward grumble from the passengers seat, still curled up and muddied wet boots tarnishing an opaque stain onto the leather seat that Hawkeye had always plagued him to clean. The older man would surely get a gun at his head for letting the boy do this, but he didn't bother to ask the feet be taken off of the seat, since the younger would probably reprimand anyway.

 

  “I thought you were born in the winter, shouldn't you like it?” Roy asked, just for the sake of engaging in a conversation than actually wanting the answer.

 

  Ed scowled, his cheeks pink from the cold and lips chapped. “I did, when I was in Risembool. The winter there is always calm and gentle with smaller amounts of snow fall on better days when we could actually settle down and enjoy it. Not like...” he made a gesture at the horrid weather around, “...not like this.”

 

  They turned another corner, and Roy hummed in acknowledgement as he stilled the steering wheel back.

 

  “I rather liked snow when I was little,” Roy admitted, his eyes on the road but watching the younger boy out of the corner of his eye, “since I lived in the east as well, I know the winter there is quite mild in contrary to Central.”

 

  The boy beside him had a small smile on his face. “Snow is still beautiful, when it comes slowly and spirals down the sky like it should do in these cliché love story bullshit movies they make, not dropping in clumps packed with ice and crashing to the ground.

 

  Roy chuckled, earning himself a glare from the blond. “What? It's true!”

 

  “I'll admit the love story part should be quite fancied.” He said at last, his eyes never leaving the road as they swerved onto the Main Street.

 

  Edward didn't say anything, as if he wasn't particularly interested in that topic. Roy quietly sucked in a breath, keeping his foot pressed to the pedal and hands grasped around the wheel. The atmosphere shifted, and it almost surprised him when, out of the corner of his eyes, Ed tilted his head to look at him. 

 

  “Say, Colonel.” He began, “You've ever heard of this...story?”

 

  The clock tower rang, striking nine. The car slowly came to a halt in front of a slightly aged building that had dark letters that Roy couldn't quite make out stuck to the front. This was the hotel the Elric brothers always stayed at, no doubt about it. He shut the engine off, pulling the safety up in the process.

 

  “I won't say I have if you can't elaborate on that, Fullmetal.”

 

  He expected the younger man to simply brush it away and open the doors with a lousy creak and get off, but he didn't. Instead, the blond pushed back the hoodie of his red cloak and shifted to get in a more comfortable position.

 

  “Well, it's something my mom told me when I was little around every winter till she...uh, passed away.” Edward swallowed slightly, taps of metal fingers drumming against leather was the only noise other than the infinite falling of snow and his own voice, a little coarse from the weather. “It's this fairy tale about this boy...who...uh...”

 

  Roy raised an eyebrow in expectation, “Go on.” He encouraged.

 

  “So..ahem...” The blond cleared his throat, “this...uh...boy, he...he...was...”

 

  “I don't have forever, Fullmetal.”

 

  “He fell in love with another guy.” The younger man's cheeks were burning red now, but it was clearly from a cause other than the cold. Roy's brows rose, homosexual? Was Trisha Elric simply being an acceptive parent who welcomed homosexuality or was she just another noob mother who spun off a tragic ending and taught Edward and Alphonse to never fall in love with another man because the same ending was occur?

 

  He gave an appreciative nod, “I'm not laughing right now, so it probably means that I won't if you continue.”

 

  “It's this myth...about, uh, _cold hands_.” Edward finished, though not quite. He simply struck a string that was tangled in Roy's mind for a rather long time now.

 

  The older man was rendered speechless, _cold hands_? Seriously? Did he just have that much luck with the damned story book that it kept popping up in weird, random occasions? But he wanted to know. He wanted to see in Ed's perspective of what he thought about that particular story he didn't finish.

 

  “Yes?”

 

  “I...do you think...can I ask you a question?” Edward stuttered out, more than a little nervous and flushed. That sparked a flame of curiosity, since when did the noisy little brat ask permission to do _anything_?

 

  “Of course.”

 

  “Do you think there's something wrong with being gay?”

 

  That was new. Roy let a hand run through his hair before answering. “No, it's completely normal, in my perspective. Why do you ask?”

 

  “Hm? Just asking so you won't actually mind if I continue the story.” Ed replied nonchalantly, taking a deep breath to go on. “So, this boy. He had cold hands, which were like a handicap that made people shrink in that story, and there was no one around for him. He had to fend for himself and act bravely, but that almost always resulted in mistakes and errors and pain. Then this one day, he saw this boy who was strong and fierce and blah blah. He accidentally fell in love with the boy, but he couldn't bring himself to confess, because it would result in showing his weakness if he got rejected.” Edward took another breath, “He didn't confess, his his feelings and hoped for the best. The boy he loved wasn't given a chance, and therefore, didn't know. That boy moved away when he realized there was nothing to stay for, and the boy with the cold hands could only regret for letting him go.”

 

  “And the point you're implying?”

 

  Another shuddering breath, “I'm gonna fucking brave here like I always am,” he gave a glare at Roy, though it wasn't the menacing glare—it was something else entirely, “I can say that right now I'm in the same condition as that weak fucker who couldn't confess even the situation demanded it, and I'm not as pitiful and cowardly as him.”

 

  Roy's heart thudded against his chest as his throat closed around, his mouth was dry and he couldn't make a sound. What was the boy trying say? That he loved someone too? That he was gay? Or that he had cold hands and needed to be cared for?

 

  “If you don't want this, we can never speak of it again and you can ignore me for the rest of your life if you intend. Fortunately for you, this time I'm giving you a choice, so choose wisely, bastard.” Oh, Roy knew too well, he simply hoped that the blond wasn't trying to deceive him like this was some kind of sick joke. “Unfortunately, I care about you much more than I should, I'd call it love but it sounds too trite for my taste. This shouldn't exist, and some may think I'm just your average pyscho with gender preference problems, but I know who I am and I think it's real to a degree. This—to clarify so your brains don't have to do the work—is called a confession, you can either give me an immediate reply or you don't ever.”

 

  In the dead silence of the night, reclined in a car while the snow rained down in a blizzard and while the wind crashed against the car sides, Roy was feeling utterly stupid. A confession, to him, had always been from coy ladies too shy and stuttering with flowery words cut off from famous love poems and stories and likewise, showering him with phrases of love and care and forever devotion that changes instantly over days. From Ed, it was like a statement of fact, bold and outlined in logic. It wasn't sweet or even cute, more like a rash decision on his part. Roy's thoughts raced in a marathon, he had thought of countless ways to confess to _Ed_ , but what did it come to when it was the other way around? 

 

  Maybe it was the silence that ensued, Ed pursed his lips, a small look of disppointment and hurt flashing across his face. He gave a small sigh, and unbuckled himself, averting his searching gaze to the door and opened it quietly. A flash of determination flickered in the coal of his eyes, it was now or never. Ed spared him the trouble of confessing, now he had to give it a chance, to preserve it. 

 

  His hand shot up on autopilot to lock itself around Ed's wrist, which was unsurprisingly cold. Maybe this was meant to happen one way or another, but giving him time would mean nothing if he should mess it up. Roy didn't hesitate, he ignored the surprised look on the blond's face as he pulled—rather harshly. Ed came crashing into in arms in utter shock, and Roy let his tongue dart out to moisten his lips; only one chance to make things clear and perfect.

 

  He cupped his hand around the younger's face, feeling the warmth of the gloved hand contrasting the coldness of his partner's. He stared into the golden eyes as he let his eyes shut, and pressed his lips to the boy's own. Roy let his tongue slide against the cold, chapped lips, tasting the difference as he bit down softly on his lower lip; seeking entrance. Edward opened his mouth willingly, accepting and hopeful. Hands tangled in his dark hair as tongues clashed and interwined in desperation and need. Roy made an absent note to himself how Edward had tasted like the sour and sweet oranges he had for lunch that day. This was ironic, kissing like there was no tomorrow in a car while it snowed, just another stereotype.

 

  Edward broke the kiss after several moments that felt like hours and days. He licked his lips, a feline smile crept its way up his slightly bruised mouth. “And in the end, I win.”

 

  A cocked eyebrow, “What are you onto about?”

 

  “I'm the one who had the guts to confess, so I'm like, the fucking lighter for this fire and it feels victorious just thinking about it!”

 

  The older man gave a chuckle, “‘This fire’ I think you're implying a relationship there.”

 

  All he got was a flat look along with an are-you-stupid-or-what glare. “I would want something like that, but you've got your reputation and rank to protect.” 

 

  Roy waved him off, nothing mattered now. It was just the excitement and hope for something even better that it didn't even get to his brain when the words came out, “Well, this could be our little secret, then.”

 

  A snort, “You sound way too teenage and rebellious for a thirty year old man.” Ed glanced at the clock tower in the distance, “As much as I'd like to stay for more kisses, this is way past the estimated return time I told Al.” He slowly backed-out, snow crunching under his boots. “I'll see you tomorrow,” and for extra effect, “ _honey_.” The mocking raise of eyebrows triggered a choked laugh.

 

  “Yes, _dear_ ”

 

  He was rewarded with a freezing snow ball that struck right on his cheek, burning where it left trails and melting on his coat and uniform. Which instantly reminded him. _Cold hands_.

 

  “Ed?” Testily, he asked, since this was a little personal, even if it were to have come from a fairy tale. “This might be a pathetic question, but, do you have cold hands?” 

 

  “Hm. Do I?” Ed tugged his cloak on tighter, and placed a hand on the open car door. “Well, that's for me to know, and you to find out.” He smiled, lips curved upwards in a secrete manner. “Though you'll probably be able to find out _soon_.” He shut the car door with a little more force than necessary, and gave a little wave before trudging through the snow to get to the hotel building.

 

  Roy stared, so he had to find out himself, then. With a small laugh, he clasped a hand over his face, lingering a while before it dropped down to settle on the steering wheel. Damn _cold hands_. He was going to find that fucking book, dig it out no matter how much the little kids stare at him for reading a children's fiction, and he was going to _memorize_  the stupid thing word by word. Then he would aim for Fuhrer and bend the rules a whole 180 degree scale-wise. Big talk for a petty soldier like him, but it wasn't like he had no chances of succeeding.

 

  Watching Ed disappear into the building, he started the engine briskly, giving a happy hum as he continued down the road. This big piece of information should be able to keep Hughes occupied for a while, and maybe he won't get pestered about having to listen to Elicia's concerts every time he visited. A good plan, really, now he just had to work out a story where he wasn't the ironic coward who couldn't bring himself to say ‘I love you’ and had to rely on someone else's confession to get things started. How should he start on that...

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote about a year ago. Thought I'd post it out instead of leaving it cramped up in a landfill I call my document folder.


End file.
